05/01/2005

The Ramp Ritual with Chassagne, 2005

They're up.

Ramps, or Rapunzel's beloved rampion, are truffley and musky and at the very right time in spring crawling over the muddy, earth worm-rich forest floor.

Foraging for ramps is a spring rite (three hours north west of NYC and no, I will not tell you where my stash is.) I've been foraging for several years now, but last year, due to circumstances out of my control, I changed foraging partners and now, two dear friends have hopped aboard this ritual of mine with adequate enthusiasm.

And of course, that's me with my nose in the heady alliums-- ---thinking about the wine to best partner that night's ramp feast.

I like my ramps straight and simple: sauted (or seetawed, as Linda would say) in EVO, a sprinkle of good salt on top of a firm puddle of mashed potatoes. I usually swear by a northern Rhone syrah but I had another option up my sleeve--one that would shock and terrify most sommeliers. The wine, I might add, was a BRILLIANT match.

Here's what happened. On the way up I stopped in a beastly overpriced Woodstock wine store with practically nothing I would stoop to buy. On the shelves was a wine wallflower, at least in this part of the world. It was a Chassagne Montrachet Rouge from the Morgeot 1er Cru vineyard (from the brilliant 2002 vintage). A bargain--even here--- at $21.

The Morgeot vineyard often offers up plenty of red bargains, as it's a Cote de Beaune vineyard known for chardonnay. This one, imported by Monsieur Touton --a little funky at first. I was confused; was it plunked in oak that was too toasty or did it just need some air? The answer was air. It needed lots. After some oxygen the wine became a mid-weight love fest full of earthy flavor-- like the crushed leaves of the forest floor--and a healthy dose of raspberry. It was really good. The wine had enough acidity to cut through the wildness of the ramps, its earthiness matched the truffle/garlic earth of the greens echoed the truffle element.

The next time a wine guy tells you that you should really only have a gewurtz or riesling with sauted ramps, bop them over the head, be strong. Tell them to hold the fruity wines, what you want is a red dominated by earth with some allusion to red fruit. Preferably a pinot, syrah or cab franc. Don't let them convince you otherwise.

P.S. When we loaded the car up with the ramps, the car reeked of the smell, which I rather enjoyed. The next morning, carting my share back to the city, they started to smell like Lily of the Valley! I thought I was having some sort of sensual hallucination. Just to reality check, I asked the man from Enterprise Auto what the car smelled like. "A flower shop," he said. Can any one out there solve this mystery for me?

I'm hunting the Leon Trotskys, the Philip Roths, the Chaucers and the Edith Whartons of the wine world. I want them natural and most of all, I want them to speak the truth even if we argue. With this messiah thing going on, I'm trying to swell the ranks of those who crave the differences in each vintage, celebrate nuance and desire wines that make them think, laugh, and feel. Welcome.

And, if you'd like a signed copy of either THE BATTLE FOR WINE AND LOVE OR HOW I SAVED THE WORLD FROM PARKERIZATION or NAKED WINE, feel free to contact me directly.